


fireworks

by circus (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Smut, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:35:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/circus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There'll be a picnic. Then we’ll go fishing.”</p><p>“I don’t know how to fish.”</p><p>“That’s alright, I’ll teach you,” Dean reassured him.</p><p>Sam scowled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fireworks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Batman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batman/gifts).



> I was requested to write smut with lots of 'emotions' and 'sweetness'. This is an attempt. :/

“It’s the 4th of July, Sammy, rise and shine!”

Fifteen year old Sam Winchester was unceremoniously pushed onto the floor. “Dean!”

“Right here Sammy boy,” Dean huffed, sitting on top of him.

“Get _off_ me!”

“Not on your life. Think of it, Sammy.” Dean spread his arms and grinned at the wall. “Independence Day.” The way Dean said it, it could have been the fucking anniversary of the creation of the world. “Isn’t it glorious, Sammy?”

“With you sitting on top me and those stupid studs on your hip pockets stabbing me, _no_!” Sam struggled.

“You do not respect the independence of your country,” Dean stated. “You should therefore be oppressed.”  
   
“Says _who_?” His attempt at rebellion was ignored.

“I have the whole day planned out,” Dean rubbed his hands, gleefully. “There will be a picnic. Then we’ll go fishing.”

“I don’t know how to fish.”

“That’s alright, I’ll teach you,” Dean reassured him.

Sam scowled.

“Okay, after that we swim.”

Sam gave up and lay his head sideways, on the floor, so he could see Dean’s profile and memorize it again and smile to himself.

“Then we dry off and drive back home.”

“And?”

“Interested now? Well, then we watch the fireworks. Then we sleep.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“What’ll Dad say?”

“Dad approves.”

Sam snorted in disbelief.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean pouted, finally getting off him. “This kind of stuff doesn’t happen often.”

So Sam stopped, goaded into guilt by the hurt look in Dean’s eyes.

“It’s not your _idea_ , it’s just Dad actually _approving_ it,” Sam tried to explain, but it wasn’t much use, because Dean never really got his point of view.

Dean revelled in doing what they did, living the life they lived.  
And Sam… Sam despised it.

“Why can’t we let anyone else do it?”

“I’m trying to _study_ , Dad.”

“You’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.”

His father was never pleased. “Have respect for your mother,” he would to growl, shaking Sam his shoulder and then dragging him by the collar, as if that settled things.

Dean was always the willing one of the two, the one with more strength and the more speed, with the sharper aim. He was the hero, and it was one of the endless things Sam admired him for.

John knew this, lately made Dean talk Sam into going with them on hunts instead.

“Where’s Dad, anyway?” Sam asked, as he packed the sandwiches.

Dean looked shifty. “He’s, uh, hunting.”

Sam didn’t really know why, but he felt let down. He knew that his father wouldn’t really have time, that he was busy, that he had _other things to do_ but it hurt him, everytime. It kept him up at night - the fact that his father always acted like he was lower priority. That whenever he went to school, he always had to take station bus home so nobody would know they stayed at a motel. Sometimes Dean would pick him up and that made everything a little better, but the others went on the school bus, or with their parents. Parents.

There were days when they’d have to hunt up in broad daylight in amusement parks, circuses, malls. Dressed as a janitor, a bell boy, cashier or trolley-collector, Sam had to survey happy families, laughing families, normal people without many cares in the world, without guns in their cars or knives under their pillows, with imaginary monsters in their closets and no real encounters with blacked eyes of the demon-possessed or of ghosts that could kill. Perfect families with perfect relationships and such happy eyes that Sam would have to go to the nearest toilet to throw up, sick to the stomach with jealousy.

Sam was angry. He -

“Where’re you going?”

Sam froze. Dean looked stunned. “The - outing, Dad. Remember?”

“I can’t afford an outing. I thought we were leaving today but there are vampires in this city, too. No excuses, we need to go.” John stared especially hard at Sam. “ _All_ of us.”

 _Breathe. Don’t focus. Look at one thing and breathe and repeat and don’t think. I’m normal. I’m completely okay._

Dean hated that look in Sam’s eyes. The pupils retracting and the feeling that Sam was gone, that there was only a shell that knew how to breathe in his place.

Sam never apologized and Dean understood. He understood that he couldn’t understand so he stuck around with Sam to help him any other way he could. Big brother thing.

Breathe, Sam told himself as he unpacked the picnic bags. He stood for a moment, in front of the fridge, bottles in hand, barely stopping himself from hurling them at the kitchen door behind him, where he heard his father shuffling in.

“Listen, Sammy,” he said, in a low voice, hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You’re not sorry, Dad,” Sam cut him off, voice shaking. “At any rate, you aren’t sorry enough.”

___

Vampires were never Sam’s favorite. Not that he walked the fucking family business in the first place, but there was too much blood. He could handle blood fine, but beheading people was different and the stains on his hands and clothes were something he could never shake off. He’d stay up after midnight and scrub his sneakers madly, tears streaming down his face. He never could tell what the tears were for. Anger? Sadness? Frustration? Self-pity? Disgust?

Sam didn’t eat after they came back to the motel.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean egged him through a mouthful of chicken. “Look, there’s pie. I haven’t touched it for you.”

Sam shook his head, pushing the platter towards Dean. “Eat it,” he mumbled. “You did most of the work anyway.” John came in, placed a plate of boiled potatoes in front of Sam. “Eat up, boys,” he bustled, oblivious of their quiet bickering. Sam scowled. _Eat up_ , he thought, bitterly. _Sure. Eat it. Your carelessness, your disinterest, your annoyance at my being your son. When will I turn eighteen?_ He looked up at the calendar next to the fridge, mentally calculating the months and days. _It’s always so far away._

He hadn’t realized, but the last three minutes Dean had been spoonfeeding him the pie.

“Hey - _Dean_!” Sam spluttered.

“What’s going on?” John asked, pulling his jacked on as he entered the kitchen. “Listen, Dean,” he went on without waiting for an answer. “I’m going over to Bobby’s, he says he’s got some leads he can’t say over the phone. You two sit tight, close all the windows and go to sleep by midnight, at the most. Keep your things packed because we’ll have to move as soon as I get back.” Dean nodded. Sam stared stonily ahead, flinching as John reached out and ruffled his hair.

“Bye, boys.”

“Bye, Dad!”

“Yeah,” Sam called, flatly.

Close the windows. That meant no fireworks, either. Sam didn’t care anymore. He flopped onto his bed and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep when Dean came in.

“Sammy?” Dean whispered.  
Sammy didn’t answer.

“Sam,” Dean tried again.  
Sam wasn’t in the mood of talking, either, it seemed.

Dean sat down on Sam’s bed.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“But no, really. I honestly didn’t think Dad would do all this. He _promised_ me.”

“Yeah, well, heads up, Dean. Dad doesn’t care about promises,” Sam sat up angry. “He doesn’t care about anything, except Mom and maybe you. Goodnight.” He lay back down and turned on his side, away from Dean. Dean lay down next to him and sighed. It tickled Sam’s neck.

“I’m really sorry,” Dean emphasized, tilting his head so he nuzzled Sam’s jaw. Sam’s mouth was set in an obstinate line.

” _Sammyyy_ ,” his big brother persisted, fingers sliding down Sam’s arm lightly. Sam squirmed.

Dean sighed again, just below his right ear. Sam growled. “That’s not fair.”

” _You’re_ not fair, you know that?” Dean breathed, turning him on his back and crouching over him, eyes roving his face.

Sam trembled at this sudden change, scared… excited.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” Dean murmured, caressing the side of his face. Sam closed his eyes.

Wrong? Everything. Then again, if he were to go with his gut, pretty much nothing.

Dean’s elbows got tired of keeping him hovered over Sam, so he lowered himself until Sam’s eyes popped open. “What’re you doing?”

“Floating like some fairy godmother on top of you gets tiring,” Dean said, lazily, as if it was obvious. Sam nodded and shut his eyes tight again, holding his breath.

Dean grinned. “What on earth do you think I’m going to do?”

The other boy opened his eyes and frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Well…” and Sam felt Dean’s eyes trailing down his face, his neck. “What do you want to do?”

There was silence for a time.

“Dean, what’s happening?”

“Nothing,” was the off-handed reply. “I’m just asking what you wanna do.”

“Well, Dean, I don’t know what to do.”

“Really.”

Sam didn’t know what to make of Dean’s tone of voice. He didn’t know much at all, except for the very strange fact that Dean was on top of him, and Dean’s hands had pinned him down, and they both seemed breathless, and there was the kitchen light falling through the racks in the wall on to Dean’s eyes, and Dean looked like an angel. An angel that, for some reason, was provoking the thickest moans out of him, because oh God Dean was _grinding_ into him.

“Dean, I - I -” Sam tried between outbursts of incoherence.

Dean shushed his lips with his own.  
“Just wait,” he smiled, and Sam had honestly never seen anything more sinful than his brother’s face at that moment.  
“But Dean - ” and he stopped in confusion as Dean got off him and pulled him up, sitting him up in front of Dean so his back was to Dean’s chest. Sam didn’t know what to expect when he heard a breathy laugh of “Buck up, Sammy,” in his ear. And then a hand snuck down his jeans. “Dean, please,” Sam gasped, and then stopped. Dean’s finger was trailing deliberately slowly down a throbbing vein at his pelvis. Sam didn’t know what he wanted Dean to please do - to take his hand out or push it on further.

Dean waited, hand still. Sam decided the feeling of having all that pleasure withdrawn from him was worse than anything else he could think of at the moment and so he swallowed and whispered, “More, please.”

“Sure about this?” Dean mumbled into Sam’s hair and Sam growled, because gosh could Dean get more exasperating?

“I said more,” Sam groaned, and his hips bucked forward of their own accord, impatient. Dean didn’t say anything, and that was just fine because were his fingers _magic_ or -

“G…augh.”

Dean smirked. “Sensitive, are we?”

“Dean, don’t, no, Dean _what are you_ \- “

Dean was not doing that, God not that was too much - too much pleasure, he was going to go insane, he was pretty sure he was going to pass out, his vision was clouding -

Dean looked up at him, green eyes flecked with gold, lashes curling slightly. Sam tried to look away, but he was transfixed. He knew this world existed but he’d never dreamed of experiencing… all these emotions, all these new signals from newly awakened nerve endings flooding his brain with ecstasy and pleasure. Pleasure on a whole new level, something _divine_.

“D-Dean?” Sam whispered, fisting the bedsheets as Dean’s tongue flitted over his veins.

“Mm,” Dean managed, and Sam half-regretted saying anything - the warm breath from Dean’s throat made red, white, yellow, black stars swirl forcefully into his eyes.

” _W-why_?” It came out as a gasp and a second later Dean’s eyes widened.

Some silence followed, and Sam felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he managed, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Dude,” Dean wiped his upper lip, looking completely normal. “There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s fine.”

“Dean - I -” he started before he groaned and arched back into the rumpled sheets, and they clung to him, sweaty and slick, rippling over his skin, deliciously cold to his burning body. Dean wasn’t doing that, he couldn’t be -

“What are you doing?” he choked.

Dean stopped for a second for a second, taking in the sight of a tall, skinny boy, big bluish-eyes glassy, bangs awry, stuck either on his forehead or in the air, cheeks flushed and lips trembling, a sheen of sweat glittering on his face, his neck, his shoulders.

“What does it feel like I’m doing?” Dean breathe, and for a moment, distracted himself by worshiping Sam’s thighs, tasting the skin like he hadn’t eaten in days, then nibbled his way back to where he was before. Sam’s leg folded themselves around his neck and Dean’s hands held his shoulders, softly, carefully, as if Sam was made of glass.

It felt achingly sweet and insane, the way Dean was there, there for him, doing all these things, making him feel, talking to him softly, apologizing. Apologizing and apologizing for a million things he couldn’t help or couldn’t do, comforting him, nipping at his collarbones, humming tunelessly in his ear.

And then Sam had a slow realization. He didn’t quite feel it at first, but the deeper Dean went, the harder the pain hit Sam. And that wasn’t supposed to happen, right? So what was Dean -

“Dean, please,” Sam almost choked on his breath again as he realized. “Don’t _do_ that.”

Dean took his finger out slowly. Sam fell back on the pillows, breathing hard.

“You have a problem, though,” Dean stated, as he shifted slightly, getting off him and smoothing Sam’s hair. “You have a bigger one,” Sam stuck his tongue out. Dean rolled his eyes and turned over on his back with a sigh.  
That was when Sam had an idea.

“Sammy?” Dean managed, eyes wide open. “No, no, get off me, you have no idea what you’re - ” Sam put a sweaty finger to his lips, beads of salted exhaustion and want dripping from his forehead to his brother’s. “You wanted to do this, right?” he gasped as he lowered himself, and for a full minute he couldn’t go on, eddies of black pain swirling over his consciousness, down his spine, into his mind, softly pulling him apart. He stayed like that, head down, hands clinging onto Dean’s arms until both of them were shaking.

Then he took a deep breath, and Dean pressed a cool hand to Sam’s navel as it caved in, feeling the smooth skin, slightly sticky with perspiration, the taut muscles trembling with newfound sensations. Dean’s hand climbed up to Sam’s heart, feeling it beating wildly, like a bird trying to get past the bars of a cage, like a hammer, relentlessly pounding against his ribs into Dean’s palm.

Sam focused on Dean’s hands, feeling all five fingers against his chest, feeling the creases on his palm, feeling the familiar warm roughness against his skin, feeling the - it was like a torrent of torment crashing down on him, splitting his back. _Do it for Dean, or I will stick a knife up there later,_ he ordered himself, and somehow his body complied.

Dean, in all his life, had never known anything could feel like this. Sure, he’d had experience, but nobody had felt like this. Nobody had cared for him like this. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as Sam’s hands slid down and laced their fingers together, as Sam worked up and down, panting with exertion, as Sam leaned over and kissed his lashed and nuzzled his temple.

“Sammy,” Dean breathed and that was all he could say. Sam smiled down at him, bangs covering his eyes before he flipped his head and looked at Dean again, memorizing every inch of him again, worshiping.

Dean looked back, at Sam’s hands, back up on his chest, at Sam’s shoulders, sloping gently down, at Sam’s arms, stringy muscles and dark veins rising up against the skin, at Sam’s thighs clenching and unclenching, at his chest - skinny, some ribs showing through, but _pretty_. At Sam, the most beautiful being in the world.

Sam shifted slightly as he went down another time, and another wave hit him - sparks of gold and silver and stardust made from emeralds in the sky, the ones that had the same color as Dean’s eyes, and it was _beautiful_ , this feeling, it was wonderful and he didn’t want to push himself back up, he -

“Whoa there, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, and flipped him over. “Dean.” It was like a mantra, a recital, a song. “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean.” And Dean smoother his brow, Dean kissed his cheek, Dean held his shoulder and Dean rocked him slowly, smiling at the smile on Sam’s face.

“D-Dean, there’s fireworks, it’s beautiful, I can see them, Dean, there aren’t any like I’ve seen, Dean, they’re better than anything, Dean, there’s _fireworks_.”


End file.
